


Friendly Fire

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 06:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: Armed raids are chaotic. Unpredictable. Dangerous.And that’sbeforeyou add Miss Fisher to the mix.Part of MFMM's Whumptober Fanfic Challenge.





	Friendly Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been ~~tricked~~ asked by whopooh, who threw down the original gauntlet on this fanfic challenge, to help kick off Whumptober. What is Whumptober you ask? Well it’s best explained in [this comprehensive Tumblr post](https://whopooh.tumblr.com/post/178566019148/its-just-a-whump-to-the-left), but the short answer is that it’s a month of whump, a fandom term meaning to lay physical and/or psychological abuse on a character in a story, but with a happy or comforting ending.
> 
> There are 31 whump prompts in total for this month.
> 
> The prompt for this story is **“Friendly Fire.”**
> 
> Many thanks to Fire_Sign for the beta read and awesome spreadsheet!

Phryne’s heels clicked on the hard hospital floor, announcing her arrival like a drum signal. The woman she was approaching, however, was too preoccupied to notice. Phryne slowed down as she reached her friend and then stopped, lightly touching her arm.

“How is he?” Phryne asked.

“Oh, miss!” Dot said with surprise. “I thought you’d be with… ”

Phryne flashed a quick smile, wide and false. No sense upsetting Dot with the particulars of the situation. He was fine. _Would be_ fine. Nothing to worry about. 

“I was, but this is triage, Dot. There’s nothing I can do for him right now and I thought perhaps I could be of use here.”

“That’s very kind of you miss, thank you. But I’m afraid I don’t know what to do myself. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Phryne nodded, then stepped forward. She put her hand on Hugh’s shoulder and gently squeezed.

“Hugh? How are you?”

There was no reply, and Phyne looked at her friend. Dot was biting at her lower lip, worried for her husband and worried for the Inspector and worried that she was worried about those two people in quite the wrong order.

“Hugh,” Phryne continued. “It was an accident. No one blames you.”

Hugh did look up at that, pale-faced and terrified.

“I shot the Inspector,” he whispered.

“I know, dear. But he’s going to be alright.”

“I shot the Inspector in the...the…”

Phryne considered his phrasing dilemma.

“Posterior is probably the most polite term,” she decided. 

Hugh looked down again.

“He’s going to kill me,” he said.

“Of course he won’t,” Phryne tried to reassure the young man. 

He didn’t appear at all reassured.

“He’s going to kill me and then he’s going to fire me.”

“Surely if he was going to do both, he’d do them in reverse order,” Phryne said with a small smile. “And, as it happens, he isn’t going to do either.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Phryne shook her head, as much in an effort to dispel from her mind the image of Jack lying unconscious in that hospital bed as to answer Hugh’s question.

“No, he was on rather a lot of morphine when I saw him, but that’s besides the point. I _know_ him. As do you. He isn’t going to hold you accountable for some rather bad luck.” 

It had been bad luck. Bad luck, a well planned raid, and a poorly planned escape attempt. Two suspects trying to shoot their way out straight through Jack and his men. Jack had taken the low ground behind a crate, while Hugh had gone high. His aim was true but the crate he was perched upon was not; it had collapsed under Hugh just as he’d pulled the trigger. 

Phryne had been there - it was her tip about the smuggling ring that had led to the raid after all - and had seen the whole thing unfold. She’d run to Jack as soon as she saw him go down. Had instructed Hugh to keep after the suspects even as she had forgotten about them completely. In that moment her world had narrowed down to Jack and the growing blood stain on his suit; she’d put pressure on the wound, medical training returning as muscle memory. He’d been conscious, which was good, and cranky, which was better. Cranky meant tomorrow. Excessive sentiment and heartfelt declarations often meant goodbye. 

The suspects rounded up with no further injuries and Jack bundled off to the hospital, there was nothing to do but wait. Which they’d all been doing for some time now. Phryne had bullied her way in to see him for a bit after surgery, but he’d been out cold from the morphine. Then a shift change had brought in a less malleable matron, who had threatened to have her forcibly removed. Phryne didn’t think Jack would appreciate waking to the sounds of her beating an orderly about the head with a bedpan and so she’d left, but decided to omit that part of the story if asked. Somehow she couldn’t see it making her friends feel better, and she certainly wasn’t in the mood to be reminded that there were still some things she couldn’t bend to her will. So she’d made her way to the waiting area to see if she could help the other casualty of the day - a clearly shell-shocked Hugh Collins.

“Hugh,” Dot said, sitting down next to her husband and taking hold of his hand. Phryne tried not to think about how cold Jack’s hand had been. _It was just the effects of the morphine_ , she reminded herself, _nothing to worry about._ She forced herself to focus on Dot’s words. “Miss Phryne is right. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. We’ve all had those. I’m sure I have at least one a week working with Miss Phryne.”

Hugh looked at his wife in disbelief. “Dottie, you can’t possibly be comparing.... This isn’t some… When was the last time you shot Miss Fisher in the, the,” he looked up and, noticing Phryne’s amused expression, nervously flailed his hands, “lower, quadrant region of her personal… person?”

“Well, I…” Dot looked up at Phryne pleadingly. “Miss? Surely you have a similar story you can share? Or perhaps an old friend had just the same thing happen?” 

Hugh’s pained expression turned expectant, briefly hopeful that she had a solution for him.

“Well…” Phryne began. The truth was she didn’t. This was a new one. Dejected, Hugh looked back down at his feet. Phryne sighed and patted his shoulder again. Then she took the seat beside Dot and the three of them waited together.

\---------------------

The rest of the day was a blur of monotony. Dot found them some tea, which Phryne gratefully accepted and Hugh politely declined. Phryne tried to cheer them up with some story or other, but later even she couldn't remember the details. She tried to sneak back into his room a couple more times, but the matron was serious about her threats and had posted a rather large orderly at the door with orders to turn her away. Phryne nodded and smiled and discreetly acquired a clean bedpan _she_ was serious about using if they didn’t let her in soon.

Mostly, though, they just waited. 

Eventually Mac arrived to update the three musketeers on Jack’s condition. They stood as one - Aramis, Athos, and Porthos - eager to learn D'Artagnan’s fate.

“He’ll be fine,” Mac said, and Hugh almost collapsed with relief. Phryne closed her eyes briefly, able to take a deep breath for the first time since the bullet hit without feeling a pain in her chest. “He’ll need a cane for a bit while the wound heals,” Mac continued, “but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage. He’s awake and pestering my nurses already. You can all come see him now if you want.”

They walked down the hall and into Jack’s private room - secured by Phryne sometime earlier - to find the man in question looking very grumpy indeed. He was on his side, propped up with some pillows and covered with a blanket. Upon seeing the trio enter with the doctor he seemed to get even grumpier. He nodded in greeting, but didn’t speak.

“Hello Jack,” Phryne chirped. “Don’t get up on our account.”

His response was an irritated glare pointed directly at her. It only made her smile brighter as she made her way to his chart. Mac followed her and they looked it over together. 

“It was a clean wound, didn’t hit any major arteries or bone,” Mac said quietly to her friend. “Interesting, though, during my exam I couldn’t help but notice it went in very near what appeared to be a recent bite mark that I’m sure you know nothing about.”

Phryne shrugged her shoulders and tried to project confused innocence. Mac didn’t even acknowledge the effort.

“I don’t think you need to worry about any rumors, though. Luckily Dr. Woodrow has seen everything and Nurse Troy has seen nothing so it appears your Inspector dodged at least one bullet today.”

Phryne rolled her eyes but smiled gratefully; if Mac had decided puns were appropriate already, he must be out of the woods. 

“And he really will be alright?” she asked, seeking reassurance all the same.

“Always a risk of infection,” Mac answered honestly, “but I’m not worried. You’ll see he heals up. And he’d be a fool to go against you.”

Phryne nodded, then looked back to the other side of the room and her friends. The Collinses hovered close to the door, Hugh holding her helmet so tightly his knuckles were white. After their initial greetings, awkward silence had descended and the three were very carefully not making eye contact. Mac excused herself to do her rounds, and Phryne followed her out to have a quick word with the nurse, returning a moment later to the same tense silence. Dot used the excuse of her employer’s return to finally attempt small talk.

“We can’t tell you how pleased we are that you’re alright, Inspector.”

“Thank you, Mrs Collins,” Jack said, his impeccable manners warring with his deep embarrassment of his current predicament.

Dot nudged her husband then, who at the sight of the Inspector seemed to have lost the power of speech. He shook himself a little and stepped forward.

“Sir, I wanted… that is, I should… what I mean to say is that I am so _so_ sorry. Sir.”

“It’s alright, Collins, it was an accident,” Jack said, but the timber and tightness of his voice indicated his words were more forgiving than he was. 

“It was, sir, obviously.” Then suddenly his eyes got impossibly wider. “No, I don’t mean obviously, as in you didn’t need to state it, I just meant I would never shoot you on purpose. Obviously. Sir!” 

“Good to know, Collins. I suppose my job is safe then,” Jack muttered sarcastically. 

“Yes! Sir. Very safe. Safe as houses.” Hugh was sweating now and looking rather ill. Phryne frowned slightly at the exchange and stepped back over.

“Hugh, perhaps you could update the Inspector on the raid?” she suggested.

“Yes,” Hugh said, immensely relieved to be able to deliver some good news. “The two suspects were apprehended, sir, and have been booked at City South.”

“Was anyone else injured?” Jack asked.

“No, sir,” Hugh answer. “Thankfully, you were the only injury.” Then his mind caught up with his mouth and Hugh rushed to clarify. “I mean, not thankfully you were injured, obviously, just thankfully no one else was. Not that they’re more important, or that you’re less important, or....”

“I get your point, Collins,” Jack interrupted gruffly. “And I’m pleased to hear you didn’t shoot anyone else after I left.”

Hugh’s face fell at that but he bravely continued on. “Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. Anyway, you don’t need to worry about the case, sir; we’re already tracking down the smuggling ring’s suppliers and City South won’t rest until we get to the bottom of this.” Hugh nodded to make his point and only realized his unintentional pun as Jack’s eyes widened and his mouth got very tight. Hugh sputtered slightly and turned very, very red.

Phryne took pity on him and decided to put herself in the line of fire instead.

“Don’t worry, Jack, Constable Brown assures me the Sutcliffe Brothers are being charged with a number of felonies in addition to the original smuggling, all of which I’m sure you can get _behind_ ,” she offered with a wink.

Hugh snorted involuntarily and then looked mortified, but upon realizing Phryne was smiling and that the Inspector was now focused on her, relaxed a little. It was almost imperceptible but it was enough. Phryne stayed the course. 

“And anyway I - ”

“Miss Fisher, the charges my station decides to file or not file are none -”

“Don’t butt in, Jack,” Phryne admonished with sly smile. He glared at her again.

“Phryne…” he growled.

“Oh are we dispensing with formalities, Jack? _Cheeky_.”

By now Jack had all but forgotten the Collines, and Hugh had never been so happy to be ignored. He decided now was as good a time as any to beat a hasty retreat.

“Sir, if you don’t need me here, I’d like to return to the station. Make sure everything is running smoothly.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Jack said, reluctantly pulling his focus from Phryne and answering his Senior Constable. “Do your best not to shoot anybody else on the way home, Constable,” he suggested, nodding in dismissal, “and thank you for stopping by.”

Hugh stopped short at that, his mortification momentarily overwhelmed by his sincerity.

“Of course, sir. I’d be here no matter what. Even if I hadn’t been the one to shoot you in the, um…”

“Hip, Collins, say it with me, _hip_. And that’s what we’ll be telling all the lads at the station. I don’t need them making me the - ”

“Butt of the joke?” Phryne offered.

Even Dot, who sometimes missed subtle agressions while looking for the best in people, could read Jack’s reaction to that. She grabbed her husband’s hand, promised to make Jack some of his favorite biscuits that very evening, and fairly dragged Hugh away. 

Once they had left the room, Phryne closed the door and rested her head against it for a moment. She took a deep breath and turned around to look at Jack, her sly smile replaced by a relieved one. 

“You gave us quite a scare today, Jack.”

“I got shot in the arse, Phryne. It’s wasn’t scary, it was ridiculous. But I’m glad it provided you with so much amusement.”

“Jack- ”

“No, now it’s my turn. I realize this is a big joke to you, because _everything’s_ a joke to you, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t undermine me in front of Hugh.”

“I wasn’t undermining you, Jack, I was defusing the situation. Hugh is positively racked with guilt - he’s been here all day, hasn’t been able to eat or drink a thing since we arrived, has barely said a word to anyone including Dot - and you weren’t helping.”

“I wasn’t… _he_ shot _me!_ ”

“Because of a crate maker’s shoddy workmanship, not in some thwarted power play! I know you love your Shakespeare, Jack, but this isn’t _Richard III_. And once you’re feeling better you’ll realize how unfair you were being and will feel very bad for the way you treated him and will be very glad I didn’t let you treat him worse.”

Jack grunted, seeing her point but not yet ready to concede it. “Well I’m glad you’re having such a good time with this. Honestly, Phryne, you could take this a little seriously. I realize we’re long past 1918, but I was shot. Surely you could take a break from your jokes and flitting about to remember that.” 

Her whole demeanor changed with his accusation, and she turned to him, her face equal parts angry and hurt. 

“Remember? I haven’t forgotten for one single second! I watched you get shot today. And yes, it was by Hugh, and yes, it ultimately wasn’t life threatening, but I didn’t know that in the moment, did I? I didn’t know anything except that _you’d been shot!_ And _this time_ you’re fine. But what about next time? What we do…” she trailed off and took in a shaky breath, finally acknowledging to herself the fears she’d spent all day carefully avoiding.

“I’m sorry if you think I’m not taking this seriously enough, but honestly if I take it any more seriously I’ll likely start crying and I might never stop. Whatever happens, however this plays out between us in the long term, you’re the great love of my life, Jack Robinson, and today _you. were. shot.”_

Phryne let out a deep sigh and sank into the chair next to his bed, her hands flexing anxiously in her lap.

“And while I’ve been flitting about, as you call it, I’ve been monitoring your condition, ensuring the men at your station were updated, and securing your release as soon as possible because I know how much you hate hospitals.” She looked him in the eye then. “I know you’re in pain and you’re scared, but I’d prefer if you directed your rancor elsewhere now. In case _you_ don’t remember, I’m on your team, Jack. And we’ve had quite enough friendly fire for one day, wouldn’t you say?”

Jack looked into her eyes, her gaze piercing and serious and still holding the shadow of the day’s fear, and all his frustrations and aggravations seemed to dissipate in a moment.

He held out his hand and she reached out her own to meet him halfway.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply, his thumb stroking along her wrist.

“It’s fine, Jack. I understand.”

“It’s not. I was… unkind. I’ll do better. And I’ll apologize to Hugh tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said squeezing his hand softly.

“It has been a pretty awful day though,” he commented.

“It has,” she agreed.

“That was my favorite suit,” he said, mournfully.

“And my favorite arse,” she replied with equal seriousness, and he barked out a laugh.

“Well I think you can relax. Both it and I should be fine in a few weeks. Then you can get back to...” He stopped, suddenly worried. “Wait, did anyone mention the - ”

“I checked. The doctor is too discreet and the nurse is too innocent. Mac assures me you’re safe.”

“From everyone but you, it seems,” he noted dryly. “Well, you and Collins.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly at his comment. “Don’t be an ass, Jack,” she said pointedly.

“Ah, but I’m your jackass,” he retorted with just the hint of a smile.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed. Then she leaned in slightly and kissed him. “So don’t scare me like that again.”

“Yes m’am,” he replied dutifully.

“Now shove over. That horrid matron was off 20 minutes ago and I’m willing to take my chances with the overnight staff.”

Jack gave her dubious look, but ultimately decided this was not a battle worth fighting. Gingerly, he shifted himself over until there was enough room for her in front of him, and she gently eased herself in between him and the side of the bed. He wrapped one arm around her and sighed, breathing in her perfume and letting its welcome familiarity calm him. 

They lay there together, quietly, for several long minutes, glad to be able to hold each other at the end of the day, even if it was in a hospital. He was just starting to drift off when he felt something hard bump his waist. He felt around and then quirked his head in confusion.

“Phryne, is that… is that a bedpan in your handbag?”

She turned her head to look at him, face serious, but eyes dancing with mirth. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jack; I’m just happy to see you.”

Jack laughed again. Then he squeezed her tighter and closed his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

“I’m glad _you’re_ here.” Phryne replied, squeezing his hand again and pulling him just a little tighter. “How long do you think you’ll be on medical leave?” she asked, sleep starting to overtake her as well.

“A week, maybe two? Any more than that and I’ll start - ”

“To feel like a bum?” she asked, voice rising in false innocence.

He sighed, deeply. “This isn’t going to stop anytime soon is it?” he asked.

“Doesn’t seem likely, does it Jack?” she replied.

He grunted and muttered something about stale material and lazy humorists, an edge of crankiness returning to his voice even as he began to fall asleep.

Phryne smiled, content and very, very grateful. Sometimes a little friendly fire was alright.

Cranky meant tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> As of this posting there are still eight whump prompts left, so if you are so moved, [sign up and contribute](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1fXdjJlZ6nRNUjJqp2dr65goF51wJFmZ_lTgPeK2Ww-E/edit#gid=0) to Miss Fisher's 31-derful Days of Pain (and Comfort)!
> 
> As an aside, I would like to note that I showed great restraint in not titling this fic, **“Whump, There It Is.** ”
> 
> Great. Restraint.
> 
> ;-)


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